


A Bedtime Conversation

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Bisexual Character, Bisexuality, Conversations, Established Relationship, Kissing, Love, M/M, Sexual References, asexual Moriarty is not celibate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:24:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whilst unable to sleep, Moriarty and Moran have a conversation in which each tries to better understand the other's sexual orientation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bedtime Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> My belief throughout everything I've written about Moriarty/Moran (yes even the porn) is that Moriarty is asexual and Moran is bisexual, but I am using asexual and bisexual in their modern senses here mostly for tagging/summary/descriptive purposes. As Victorian characters I don't think either character would identify themselves using these words then.
> 
> My main Moriarty/Moran headcanon is kind of a mix of Ritchie!verse and canon by the way hence the use of two different 'verse tags.

   It is such a bitterly cold night that there seems little else to do but retreat to bed, even though it is rather early and neither of them is particularly sleepy. There, huddled up under an eiderdown and several blankets (Moran would prefer not to think about the nightshirt and woollen socks he has been forced to wear) and with a fire still burning low in the bedroom’s small hearth, it is warm and cosy. Still though he is not tired and he is growing bored of lying tossing and turning whilst Moriarty is engrossed in a book.

    At last though, with a small sigh of frustration at his companion’s restlessness which is becoming _very_ distracting, Moriarty places the ribbon marker in his book, sets it aside and then carefully removes his reading glasses before turning out the light. He slides himself further under the covers and slips an arm around Moran’s upper body, half-turning him so that Moran can rest his head against Moriarty’s shoulder.

   “Still not tired, pet?” the professor asks.

    “No, sorry sir.” Moran grins up at him. “Course I could think of something we could do to tire us both out.”

     Moriarty sighs again, though with greater affection and amusement now. “Yes, I am certain you could.”

    “Would warm us both up too.”

    “I am warm enough now, thank you.”

    “Pity.”

    Moran doesn’t sound too disappointed however, Moriarty notes, which probably means he had no real expectation of being given sex tonight. Evidently he needs some manner of distraction though if he is not to continue with his abominable fidgeting. Therefore, he decides, it is a good time to ask Moran about a matter that he has wondered about for some while now.

    “Sebastian.”

    “Mm?”

    “May I ask you a question of a somewhat personal nature?”

    Moran laughs. “You know me inside and out, Professor, what else is there left to know?”

    Moriarty himself smiles at this. Yes, he supposes the numerous occasions where he has had his prick inside Moran, or his fingers, or (on a couple of rare but interesting occasions) his entire hand _does_ give one a very real, very deep sense of what makes the colonel tick. Yet there remain elements of Moran’s nature that still faintly elude Moriarty’s comprehension and these cannot be understood, he suspects, through practical experiments, only by simply asking him.

    “Your attraction to women, Sebastian,” he says. “Is it precisely the same as your attraction to men?”

    “My attraction to…?” Moran seems puzzled, although less by the question and more as to why Moriarty is asking this.

    “I am simply curious as to whether your feelings for women are the same as those you experience for men.”

    Moran shrugs. “Largely, I suppose, yes. Men and women can both be… very attractive.”

    “And you wish to lie with both?”

    “Well, you know, certain examples of both sexes. Don’t mean I want to fu- lie with _every_ man and woman.”

    “No, of course not, I was not suggesting that. Is there however some difference between the sexes? Some different element, say, that you notice about women as opposed to men?”

    “Well…” Moran thinks about this momentarily. “Most men don’t have long hair, and I suppose there’s something about the way a woman may let down her hair when she’s about to let you… well you know. Well, I suppose you _don’t_ know, but…”

    “I understand your meaning, Moran.”

    “And of course the clothes are usually very different. With all those big skirts and the corsets and all that on women sometimes it seems a bit more… mysterious with ‘em, and that bit of mystery about what’s under the clothing, that can be quite interesting, but then of course I usually like to get the clothes off them pretty sharpish.” Moran grins wickedly. “Once everyone’s got their togs off I s’pose too I like it well, I just like it a lot rougher, with men. It don’t seem right with women, even if they say they like it rough, I just can’t…” Moran, curled on his side against the professor, scratches his head absentmindedly for a moment as he thinks about this further. “And, well, to be honest with you though, Professor, when it comes down to it, I like women and men both and there’s not a great deal of difference in the actual _desire_ but…” He pauses, aware that perhaps he is about to reveal far too much.

    “But?” Moriarty prompts gently.

    “But… I can’t say as I’ve ever had deeper feelings – real deep feelings – for any woman. I mean… I love women, sir – some more than others, mind – but… well, when I was in the army, some of the men used to talk about their sweethearts, or about their dreams of taking a wife once they finished with the army. Not to say that I’ve had many deeper feelings for other men either, but I could never see myself doing that.”

    “Taking a wife?”

    “Mm, I just… could not conceive of ever developing feelings for any woman that’d make me want to wed her.”

    “Not even your Miss Winter?”

    Moran chuckles. “She wouldn’t have me anyway.” He glances up at Moriarty, trying to judge the professor’s reaction to his words. Although Moriarty has always seemed perfectly accepting, even encouraging, of Moran’s continued close friendship with Kitty Winter, Moran does occasionally worry that Moriarty is more fearful than he can admit that one day Moran may abandon him for Kitty, or for some other woman. “I do love Kitty – I care for her more than any other woman, but…” He drops his gaze and rests his hand on the professor’s chest now, almost directly over his heart. “Not like that.”

    Silence falls between them for some moments, in which Moran listens to the professor’s soft breathing and feels his heart beat steadily beneath his hand while he completely and utterly fails to say that though he loves women he has never truly fallen _in_ love with one, not as he has with Moriarty. Yet in truth he only fails to express this aloud, in words.

    In that brief silence Moriarty lies quietly, so close to Moran that his chin rests upon the top of his head, his arm wrapped around him, and grasps what is left unsaid, and he smiles. “I see,” he says, his tone thoughtful but light.

    Sensing now that he is not about to be censured for saying too much, Moran snuggles closer against the professor’s side, breathing in the warm, clean scent of Moriarty’s body. “What about you, sir?” he asks after a few seconds.

    “Me?”

    “Mm, your attraction to people. Have you never seen a woman who interested you?”

    “I have seen multiple women who interested me, but not, I think, as you mean.”

    “No men either?” Moran says, reflecting upon how Moriarty never seems to notice _anyone_ as he himself does. Indeed even though he is sure by now that Moriarty feels more for him than any other and though they have lain together too many times to count now, he does not believe Moriarty is attracted to him as his other sexual partners have been.

    “There were a few other partners before you, as you know,” the professor replies, “but with all of my prior partners it was less a matter of desiring them and more that simply… they did not repulse me enough to put me off satisfying my occasional base urges with them.”

    Now Moran chortles. Moriarty’s words could easily sound offensive, yet with him knowing Moriarty as he does instead he simply finds it amusing. “And do I not repulse you, then?”

     Moriarty smiles. “No, you do not. Indeed aesthetically I find you very appealing. Moreover, I trust you, Sebastian, as I have never trusted another, and I think that simply put you and I work together.”

    “Yes sir, we do.” They may not fully understand each other's attraction – or lack of attraction – to people but indeed they do understand each other's needs and desires – Moriarty’s craving for control; his urge to dominate, and Moran’s yearning to be controlled; to submit to his partner, but whilst both know that they are respected and cherished by the other and that they are safe.

    Moran remains rather puzzled by the sense that something is still lacking in the way in which Moriarty regards him at times, with pride and a pleased sense of possessiveness, yes; with admiration too, and certainly with a great deal of affection, but without the merest hint of, well, to put it rather bluntly, _lust_. In turn Moriarty remains unable to comprehend why sometimes it seems that Moran can be provoked into a state of great _excitement_ by the merest glimpse of thigh or buttock, never mind the even more private parts. Moriarty is certainly aware that some people are very attractive, not merely in terms of their physical characteristics but perhaps in regard to details such as their smile or their laugh, but he has never felt particular interest in the certain portions of the anatomy that Moran seems to like so much, nor any urge to copulate with them except perhaps for the sake of experimentation. Even with Moran, the one person he has ever had anything even resembling close emotional intimacy with, things are different only because he finds himself enjoying playing with and pleasuring Moran (the colonel really is terribly endearing when he is writhing and begging and moaning incoherently in desperation and pleasure under the professor’s ministrations), and of course because he trusts the colonel deeply not to judge him or expose his proclivities to the world, not because his attraction itself is fundamentally different. He knows, and so too is Moran aware of this, that he does not desire Moran as Moran desires him, but that is all right. They are different, yes, but in a manner which, as in many other regards, enables them to complement each other. Despite both of them fearing at times that they are not enough for the other, they both feel a sense of security and satisfaction with each other that neither has ever felt with another.

    Moran turns his head slightly and now places light kisses over the small expanse of bare skin in the gap at the collar of Moriarty’s nightshirt, moving slowly up his throat before finally kissing him on the lips. This is something else that both have differing opinions on, and both have come to change their minds about also. Once, to Moran, kissing, if permitted by his partner, was usually merely a prelude to or an act that accompanied sex. Rarely did he ever kiss anyone solely for the act’s own sake. Moriarty meanwhile, who still cannot entirely see precisely what is so wonderful about kissing, once never kissed Moran, or indeed anyone, deeming it a pointless gesture. Over time though, with the growing realisation that their relationship was not merely a professional one with a side order of mutual sexual satisfaction, he began to acquiesce to Moran’s desire to kiss. Thus Moriarty learnt that kissing could at least be pleasurable in terms of its implications of his control over Moran, or in how much Moran seemed to enjoy it, and Moran too learned that kissing could often be a simple gesture of affection and not just about sex.

    So now even when Moriarty parts his lips very slightly to accept this kiss, Moran has no expectation of it leading to further physical acts at this time, and he is content with this. Being together has given them both things perhaps neither of them ever truly knew before that they wanted – security; close companionship, and perhaps simply someone to be there for them and take their side when the rest of the world is at its most infuriating, and indeed also a deep sense of intimate satisfaction, not only physical but emotional and intellectual too. Thus though Moran’s libido is far higher than Moriarty’s, the games they play together satisfy both of them, sometimes in the same way, sometimes in different ways, and the bond between them is such that both has a strong understanding not just of the other’s needs but of their limits as well. At times there has been a little playful testing of the boundaries but neither has ever truly pushed beyond what the other is comfortable with, and their relationship has grown ever stronger and more fulfilling over time as a result.

    “Professor,” Moran says now, nestling back against Moriarty’s shoulder after the kiss, “you _are_ content with me, aren’t you?”

    “I am more than content, Sebastian.” Moriarty idly combs his fingers through Moran’s hair and allows several seconds of silence to elapse before he speaks again. “I might ask you the same question.”

    Moran glances up at him again. “I am more than content too, James,” he says with the flash of a smile showing on his face at his use of Moriarty’s first name here.

    “Good,” Moriarty says, and he too smiles faintly. “I am glad.” He reaches down and carefully pulls one of the blankets a little further over Moran. “Now, do you think we might sleep now?”

   “Of course,” Moran replies, and gently closes his eyes. “Goodnight, Professor.” 

   “Goodnight pet.”

   And so, curled in each other's embrace beneath the blankets to keep out the harsh cold, the criminal mastermind and his right hand man contentedly drift off to sleep.


End file.
